The God of Death
by Shikata ga nai
Summary: AU. In a personally ironic peacetime of the future, the lonely Duo has lost his perspective and optismism. "So it's come to this. Time to live up to my nickname..."


DISCLAIMER: I do not own Gundam Wing.

A/N: It's about Duo and there's character death.

~*~

The amber liquid burns like fire as it sears its way to my stomach. I gasp and feel the gentle buzz add to the beehive already in my brain. I pick up the bottle and pour the dregs into my glass. Was it full when I started? I can't remember anymore. I don't want to remember. 

The empty bottle drops unheeded to the floor and a crash echoes back up to me, heralding their meeting. Tossing back my head, I empty the glass in one motion. I blink to focus, trying to see the shape of the tumbler in my hand, but it eludes me, just like everything does these days. Anger and frustration pry it from my grip, more crashing and tinkling reach my ears as it hits the far wall. 

"See ya, Jack." Jack Daniels. A snicker escapes my lips. I don't know why it's so funny, but my fuzzy, liquor-addled brain has tuned out, and the laugh continues. It feels good, like a natural high. Suddenly my mind returns, probably from trying to purge itself in some forgotten corner. Good luck. What's that noise? Sounds like a hyena. It stops as soon as I notice it.

There is no hyena in sight, but as I look blearily down, sparkles catch my eye, glittering in the harsh unseen light of the fluorescent bulbs above me. I am reminded of stars glowing in the sky. Home…The floor looks more and more like the night sky, and an overwhelming sense of vertigo consumes me. I nearly fall off the shoulder of my gundam. The clunk of metal as my heel hits it grounds me again.

My gundam. Deathscythe. The long scythe in his hand is unlit, hanging quietly and innocently like a sleeping snake. I killed a lot of people with him, back in the day. During the war. Back when I had a sense of purpose, a reason to get up in the morning. I look for my bottle of whiskey. Where is it? I swear I brought a full bottle up here with me. Damn it. 

Glass. The stuff twinkling on the floor is glass. I remember now: I drank the bottle and dropped it. After a moment's thought I crawl clumsily down into the cockpit, emerging with another bottle. Always carry a spare. I can't get back up with it in my hand, so I content myself to sit on the door, slugging back the whiskey straight from the bottle. 

Thinking fuzzily about my life, I realize that I've been in more battles than I could ever count. Dimly I raise my bottle to Deathscythe and take another slug, as a drunken toast. The comfortable buzz has come back. "Never think about the past without a lot of liquor handy," I mumble aloud to the empty warehouse. At least I think that's what I'm saying. 

Back during the war, I always had a reason to be. I am a soldier; I could never be anything else. Battles are where I live and breathe. Then the peace came. What use is a great bloody mecha armed to the teeth, controlled by a crazy, deprived battle machine of a pilot, during peacetime? I'm a fish out of water. I take another long pull, draining three shots at least, and gasp for air. The buzz becomes a pounding. 

Then all my comrades died. All four of the gundam pilots. In a big battle, our last showdown against the bad guy. Then there was that awful peace. I'm not at peace. There's no one to talk to, no one who really understands me. Just Deathscythe. He's not much of a conversationalist. "Are ya, old buddy?" I say loudly in the general direction of his head. Another toast and my second bottle is empty. I throw this one at the floor, satisfied as I hear it shatter. Suddenly my head reels and bile rises in my throat. The only thing that escapes my lips, mercifully, is a groan. _I am so drunk…_

I stare around the room. It is big, empty and blurry. An old warehouse, my gundam friend's home for the last several years. They won't let me take him for walks. I stand up shakily, waving my arms so I won't fall over. I stagger my way into the cockpit, hanging onto everything for support. After some rooting around in a compartment, I find what I'm looking for and bring it out. Slowly I make my way back to my seat on the hatch. I have to feel for the edge because my depth perception is among the broken glass on the floor by now. As soon as I sit down, an awful pain in my head makes me curse and swear. I'm sitting on my braid. 

"That's it. Time to do this." I'm not sure if I'm thinking or talking. The room is starting to swim. All of the colour in the world around me is leeching out slowly, fading to shades of grey. _Just like my life._ I take a deep breath and everything snaps into sudden clarity, just for a moment. I take advantage of it to prepare the gun. One bullet is in the barrel. One chance. A small click echoes everywhere inside and outside of me as I take off the safety.

I take one last look up at my dear friend. "You be a good mecha. I'd take you with me if I could…" My face is wet from the tears streaking out of my eyes. Another deep breath. The warehouse is swimmy again, but I'm not sure if it's from the whiskey or the crying. The feel of cold, impersonal steel sends a shiver through me as I put the gun to my temple. _So it's come to this. Time to live up to my nickname. Shinigami…_

Down the hall a security guard was jerked awake by the sound of a gun firing.

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A/N: That was easily the most depressing thing I've ever written. I like how it turned out, though. Now go write me a nice long review. Or a short one, if you like. I don't care. As long as it's a review…


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